


Hollow my Bones, Burn them to Ash (they'll always bring me back)

by Atlanta_Black



Series: Harry Potter One-shots [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Again... sort of, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Gen, Hallucinations, M/M, Memory Loss, Memory gaps, Nightmares, No Beta, Pre-Relationship, Sort Of, We Die Like Men, harry has trauma, locket tom riddle is a fucking asshole, lots of mentions of blood, prose, so much prose, takes place during the horcrux hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23062543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanta_Black/pseuds/Atlanta_Black
Summary: It's just another time travel story.Until it's not...Until it's something much worse, much darker and Harry doesn't know if he'll find his way out of this alive.Doesn't know if he cares either way...Divergence point: A doe leads Harry to a river where the sword of Godric Gryffindor gleams in the moonlight.Harry does not remove the locket from his neck before diving.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley
Series: Harry Potter One-shots [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875151
Comments: 5
Kudos: 84





	Hollow my Bones, Burn them to Ash (they'll always bring me back)

He’s seventeen and tired. Exhausted and suddenly he’s in a new time period _all alone_. Nothing but his memories to keep him company. He makes his way to the castle slowly. Not sure where else to go.

.

.

He just hurtled through time and the air on either side of him feels _empty_. When he closes his eyes he sees Hermione’s smile and Ron’s hands. Feels their warmth washing over his skin and when he opens his eyes again…

When he opens his eyes he feels cold. Feels as if all the warmth and happiness has been sucked from the world.

They don’t teach you how to live with grief carving its way through your bones.

.

.

Dumbledore smiles at him, hair red and shoulders light. Smiles at him with the grace of a man who does not know what is to come. Calls him ‘dear boy’ and Harry feels as if he will drown in the pent up rage he feels when he looks at this man.

Feels the past weight of every time Dumbledore had called him _boy_ come crashing back onto his shoulders and he is angry, so blisteringly angry.

Later, much later, if asked he will not be able to tell you precisely what words came snarling out of his mouth. But the words slash across Dumbledore’s skin and for all that he is so very very painfully young in this time, he looks suddenly, as if he’s aged ten years. Looks as if the weight of the world has touched his shoulders and left him aching.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

An apology from a man who isn’t burdened with the memories that Harry has rattling in his head does little to ease the anger. But it is a start and we all must start somewhere.

.

.

He sorts without much fanfare. Threatens to burn the hat when it once again whispers Slytherin in his head. He will not tarnish the memory of his friends by going to a house that has never done anything except hate him.

He will surround himself with red and gold and faded memories of a time that no longer exists and he will _ache_ and hurt because he deserves to remember. Deserves to carry this pain.

He spends his first night dreaming of castle walls crumbling and fire washing over the grounds. Dreams of _screaming, screaming, screaming and hair so much redder than it should be. Of hands reaching, reaching, reaching…._

He wakes up screaming.

For a brief moment, with the tears still wet on his face, he regrets coming back to this dorm. Regrets ever walking back into this castle.

But he deserves this, _he does._

.

.

His hands are cold. The locket he’s never had a chance to take off is still burning a hole into his skin. He can almost hear Hermione’s chiding voice in the back of his head. If he closes his eyes he can picture the way her hands would reach out to gently tug the chain over his head.

But she isn’t here.

She isn’t here and there’s nowhere he can put the locket that he feels safe leaving it. Voldemort has only just risen to power early last year and Harry is equal parts terrified and excited to see if he will be able to sense the presence of this horcrux. Of a soul that is his and yet not his at all.

What will he do if Voldemort himself appears?

Does the prophecy even still ring true in this time? Is this even the same world?

He doesn’t know and Hermione isn’t here and the library makes his chest seize up with grief.

The entire castle makes his limbs feel sluggish with loss. His home, his safe place, tainted by the memories of everything he will _never_ get back.

.

.

The locket is still burning against his skin.

.

.

He keeps waking up screaming, grateful that he still has weeks until the rest of the students appear.

.

.

There are ghosts in every corner of the castle and the grey lady watches him with sad, knowing eyes.

Better the ghosts than he can see than the ones he cannot.

.

.

The students come streaming through the doors, chattering brightly and filling the hall with warmth and cheer. He wishes some of it would stick on his skin but all he can feel is tired. He doesn’t think he knows how to be anything but tired anymore.

He keeps searching the faces even though he knows the ones he wants to see will not be there. None of these faces are familiar. Not the ones with red gracing their scarves and not the ones with green tied like a noose around their neck.

A flash of red hair passes through his visions and he’s half-way out of his seat, heart thumping painfully in his chest, before he remembers where he is. Remembers that there is _nobody_ in this school that he knows.

The movement draws attention to him though and he looks down the table, straight into piercing green eyes and his stomach, lurches, drops, tilts. Fingers pressing so hard against the table that he absently wonders which will break first. The table or his fingers?

Lily Evans stares back at him brighter and more real than anyone else in the room. Sharp around the edges even as her hair curls in soft waves around her face. Eyes bright with concern and curiosity.

Her hair is red. Blinding and brilliant and the same shade that Ron’s had been the last time he’d seen him. Her hair is red and he feels sick.

This had been a mistake.

He never should have come here.

.

.

He wakes up screaming. _A castle burning and his hands coated in blood. Is it his?_

.

.

He wakes up screaming. _Hermione is screaming, the sound ripping from her, half strangled and more grief than sound._

.

.

He keeps losing time. Doesn’t remember the days passing. Dimly finds it in himself to be worried about this.

_Ginny lays sprawled on the chamber floor. Hair wet and skin cold. She’s so, so fucking cold. Tom Riddle smiles at him. Teeth glittering white in the darkness of the chamber. Harry feels something slipping down his spine._

.

.

James Potter keeps staring at him and Harry can’t even find it within himself to care. He’s so tired. Too tired to care about a boy who shares his face.

His hands are shaking around the strap of his bag and Dumbledore keeps shooting worried looks in his direction. He feels each one like a brand and hates that the only time he feels anything is when the too familiar spark of rage lights in his stomach.

He doesn't hate. He’s too tired to hate.

James keeps staring at him and then staring at Lily. Lily is doing the same. He thinks he saw them talking yesterday, Sirius hovering worriedly, eyes darting all around.

He still wakes up screaming. _A chain wrapped tight around his throat and lungs burning. Ron’s eyes burning through him, accusing and hateful. “This is your fault.” he whispers, face half burned, half charred. Mouth still mimicking the movement of one who has a mouth. “I hate you. Why was I ever friends with you?”_

_“Please.” he tries to whisper, the word staying lodged in his throat. “Please.”_

.

.

It is March.

The last date he remembers is October 31st.

James and Lily are holding hands.

They no longer stare at him. But Sirius and Remus do. Eyes wary and shoulders tight.

He is still so cold and far too tired.

The locket is still burning into his skin.

.

.

_Harry. Harry. Harry please, please, please._

_Please._

_Harry._

_Ron do something. Please. Merlin, you can’t---_

_Harry, Harry, Harry._

.

.

He doesn’t wake up screaming. That may be because he can’t remember the last time he woke up.

He’s still tired despite being asleep. Presumably asleep. Still so horribly tired and cold.

Always cold.

Has he ever been warm?

.

.

His chest is burning. This isn’t new but there’s something else. A high pitched screaming that’s cutting through the darkness he’s been floating in.

The screaming grows louder and he sits upright in the darkness as his head explodes in pain.

_NO! YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM!_

_HERMIONE GET BACK!_

_I said, no._

One second there’s darkness…

The next… he’s screaming, blood burning in his veins and the darkness washed away, replaced with blinding sunlight and the smell of wet dirt.

He curls into himself, fighting against the hands that keep trying to hold him down.

“Shit, shit, shit. Hermione, do something!”

There’s no reply and he doesn’t bother opening his eyes. This is just another nightmare. The heat melts down his spine and wraps around his neck. He tries to scream and chokes, gags, missing the cold that had previously wrapped around him.

The dream people in the background are still yelling, hands still holding his shoulders to the ground and he is too tired to fight. Is still choking, body shaking from the lack of air.

 _“I said, NO.”_ he hears a girl's voice spit, voice ringing with fury. _“He is ours.”_

And the burning skyrockets, lighting him up from the inside, leaving his bones hollow and his throat raw. The force that had been choking him disappears and he screams, back arching, blood molten under his skin.

Keeps screaming, until he blacks out.

_But before he does, he opens his eyes and this must be a dream, because it couldn’t be, there’s no way._

_Ron’s face stares down at him, freckles standing out against his white face, eyes bloodshot and grief stricken._

_It must have been a dream._

_Ron is dead._

_He can’t have been holding Harry to the ground with shaking hands._

_It must have been a dream._

.

.

He wakes up to muted light and warmth. There’s a blanket carefully draped over him and a warm body on either side of him. Brown curls just barely tickling his nose and a pale, freckled hand curled into a fist over his heart.

He stares, brain moving sluggishly. The warmth casting a comfortable haze over everything, leaving him confused as to why this feels wrong.

The feeling doesn’t last long. He glances sideways, catches a glimpse of Ron’s head just slightly above his and feels his heart stutter at the sight of red hair.

_He shouldn’t be here._

He doesn’t move, doesn’t jump from the bead and run screaming. His limbs are too heavy and he doesn’t think he could move if the tent was burning to the ground. The tent.

The tent.

Why are they in the tent?

The last thing he remembers is _Ron laying still, hair drenched with blood. Hermione screaming, screaming, hands reaching for something he can’t see. The world spinning in a flash of golden light._

He doesn’t realize he’s breathing erratically until Ron jerks awake, fingers splaying across his chest, across his heart. Ron sits up frantically, leaning over him, eyes panicked and then pauses in surprise when he sees Harry’s open eyes.

“ _Oh._ You’re awake.`` His voice is hoarse, and he laughs once, a disbelieving soft sound that settles under Harry’s skin. “You’re awake. Merlin, I thought---” He stops, face going dark briefly before he shakes him and smiles. It’s like the sun washing over Harry’s skin.

“You’re not real.” The words fall out before he can stop them and he hates himself for putting that grief stricken look back on Ron’s face. Maybe he’s not real but Harry could have least pretended.

“Mate. Of course I am, why wouldn’t you…” He closes his eyes, swallows. His hand is still pressing against Harry’s chest. “Of course I’m real.” He finally says again, voice low.

Harry hesitates, traces the freckles on Ron’s face with his eyes and admits that he does seem real but… “But you can’t be.” he whispers, heart seizing painfully. “You can’t be. I saw you die.” Ron stares at him, mouth slightly parted, face pale. “I saw you die. There was blood, there was so much blood and I couldn’t do anything and you-” he breaks off, gasping for air and watches Ron close his eyes again. _This is it, this is when the dream will dissolve. This is when he’ll tell me it was my fault. Because it was, it was._

“I didn’t die but there was a lot of blood.” Ron says, in the tone of one who had been hoping for a conversation to never happen. “It wasn’t my blood though Harry.” He opens his eyes again, the brightness of them piercing. Far more real than Lily Evans had ever been even in her sharpness. “It was yours. It was all yours. The locket tried to melt into your skin. Tried to fucking merge with you.”

“It tried to kill you.” Hermione’s voice says suddenly, drawing his attention from Ron’s scrunched up face. She’s staring at them, still curled up against his side. “We’re not really sure what exactly it was trying to do but we know whatever it was doing was killing you.” Her eyes are filled with tears and she blinks them away furiously, paying no attention to them as they streak down her face.

“I never left that clearing near the river?” He asks faintly, dimly remembering crystal blue water and the gleam of a sword near the bottom, ruby red handle shining even in the dark.

“No.” She says the word with the same finality he remembers hearing her say No. He is ours.

He sluggishly draws a hand up to press against Ron’s face and then does the same thing to Hermione. “I never left.” he repeats, voice shaking, eyes burning. “Merlin, I thought--” he chokes, sobbing from the force of his relief.

“Oh, Harry. Harry, we’ll never let anyone take you from us.” Hermione murmurs sadly, wrapping herself around him, a hand curling into his hair.

Ron repeats the motion on the other side and they all lay there until Harry stops crying, until the sunlight disappears and right as Harry is about to fall asleep, he hears Ron whisper against his neck, breath warm, “We’d burn cities for you.”

Hermione hums softly in agreement, hand tightening in his hair. “We’d shift planets to keep you by our sides.”

He falls asleep, warm and safe.

He falls asleep _loved._

.

.

In the back of his mind, unnoticed, there’s a shift, a barely there movement. And red eyes blink open in the darkness.

 _Good._ It thinks viciously. _This is my body, my host. No one else gets to merge with it. Not even other pieces of me. Good._

It settles down in the corner that it has always called its own and basks in the warmth once again prevailing in Harry’s mind. It knows it’s days are numbered but that is fine.

All will be well.

**Author's Note:**

> Locket Tom Riddle: I'm gonna stick this asshole in a fucking dream world and take over his body mwahahaha  
> Harry Horcrux Tom Riddle: no. my host. my body. shove off, get your own.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Yeah, that's basically what just happened. So now the game is, in the hallucination, dream world, how many of those emotions were Harry's and how many Tom's? 
> 
> byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee


End file.
